


Let the Games Begin

by inyourbrain



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Christmas Competition, Christmas market, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Get the Girl, Jamie Loves Flowers, Owen is the real MVP, Slow Burn, teacher Dani
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inyourbrain/pseuds/inyourbrain
Summary: Jamie hates the cold. Hates Christmas more. She will attend the Christmas market anyway, as she does every year, the wreath demand too lucrative to deny.The Wingraves annual Christmas competition runs alongside their market, and is something that makes her back teeth hurt.She'll enter this year. It's the only way to impress the girl she never thought she'd see again.Christmas Market/Flower Shop AU.
Relationships: Dani Clayton & Jamie, Dani Clayton/Jamie, Jamie & Owen Sharma
Comments: 97
Kudos: 194





	1. Christmas Market

Warm air drifts in a plume from Jamie’s mouth and weaves between the fibres of her gloved hands in a decidedly weak attempt at warming her numb fingers. She’s heard it can’t happen, but with mounting evidence of their stiffness, decides to be extra careful navigating her flowers today lest they snap clean off like icicles.

Disgruntled, and not a small bit frosty, Jamie scowls at the crowd in front of her, irrationally and irritably assigning each and every one of them are responsibility for the bitter snap in the air.

Her blood could be freezing in her veins right this very moment and they would just continue swaying to Christmas music, giving passing interest to the work going into every single item on display here, drinking their sickly-sweet beverages, and passing no heed of winter entering her bones.

What is it with people and Christmas markets? What is it about gathering poor, defenceless venders trying to make a liveable wage in the freezing cold, only to march around and sneer _‘just browsing’_ every five minutes?

 _It’s possible to do this in a fucking shop!_ she wants to shout, _where people can be warm, and their fingers don’t turn black and noses don’t fall off!_

Jamie does not like the cold. Almost wants to report them all for violating her human rights. 

She eyes a couple man-handling the delicate petals of her meticulously planned and executed rose bouquet, and glares, swallowing the flash of resentment tugging at the fraying edges of her patience.

They wouldn’t be mauling Owen’s cakes at his stall, would they? That would be outrageous. But they can go about touching her merchandise as if how the petal feels to their novice fingers will make a blind bit of fucking difference to their assessment of its quality. 

A whispered chat between them, the petals on her poor flower well and truly spoiled, and they’re buying a different bouquet of the same arrangement.

She grits her teeth and accepts their money with a strained smile, aware she must look like she’s licked a grapefruit and caring not at all. They have the grace to appear sheepish at least as they exchange mildly bashful glances and hurry away from her stall. 

She shrugs off the invasive thoughts telling her they won’t be back. If she were smart, she would take a leaf from Owen’s book, but she likes to think her carefully curated leaves speak for themselves. The flowers stacked around her glint a multitude of vivid colours in the weak December sunlight, and she was proud as punch of each and every single one of them.

A lot had gone into their growth, not in the least the water and sunlight she provided. They deserved better than to be pawed at.

Owen’s voice trickles vaguely into her consciousness as he happily chats his customer’s ear off and she rolls her eyes as peals of laughter from the pretty woman purchasing his newest creation drifts her way. They likely come back to his stall time and again for as much his terrible puns as his cakes.

Smile as wide as the Thames, she watches as he tells them about a “ _toffee apple cake – something of a left-over Halloween influence, just whipped it up!”_

He had been “whipping it up” in the four weeks since Halloween. Perfecting it at every opportunity and providing ample taste tests for Jamie and Hannah.

She’s had no complaints for him, or his delectable art. Her stomach gives a quiet rumble at the thought of nipping over to nick one, but as usual another customer is at her stall, and it’s one she recognises.

She smiles her extensively practiced smile at Mr. Peters as he places the fresh bouquet down on her makeshift wooden counter. He nods at her, and grins, as if they share a secret joke.

 _The only joke_ , Jamie thinks her face beginning to ache with the strain of pretence, _is him_.

The impulse to sneer pulls at the muscles in her face, but her practice prevails and freezes her polite grin in place.

“Good job I found you here!” he laughs. “Walked by your shop and it was closed. Nearly started to panic!”

Jamie _smiles_ with all the will she possesses, and shrugs. “Christmas markets, y’know.”

“Ah, yes! Bit of a departure from the usual Saturday morning run!”

She catches the meat of her tongue between her molars. The only way she, for the life of her, can refrain from insulting this paying customer is by not saying anything at all. His business could be counted on every Saturday, an expensive bouquet for his wife. And Jamie supposed if she had to give him credit for buying her most expensive product each week, the wife deserved some sort of look in also for continually accepting his apologies. She certainly would not be able.

He had let it slip to on a few too many occasions that he was in the bad books, a conspiratorial hangdog expression illuminating his features. She had noted each time the hint of pride in his confessions. She was not one to judge people on their bad decisions, Lord knows she doesn’t have a leg to stand on, but she had never been particularly _proud_ to cause anyone else distress.

“$48.50.”

She flashes her most charming smile and drops the crisp fifty into her money box, pretending to search for the correct change as he winks and says, “keep it, sweetheart. Wish me luck!”

She wishes the wife luck instead.

“Have to admit,” Owen says, handing her a steaming cup of tea, “it is a nice change isn’t it?”

“Ta.” She greedily wraps her fingers around the cups warmth and blows lightly on the surface of the golden-brown tea. “What is?”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “The decorations! It’s Christmas!”

She snorts, “it’s the first of December. You have another twenty-four days to wait yet, I’m afraid.”

“Scrooge,” he teases, a light smile gracing his lips.

She laughs, “young kid rejected by their family and banished to spend Christmas alone? Sounds nothing like me.”

Owen’s eyes flashes to her own, eyebrows knitted together, the smile still playing on his lips a little sadder now.

Jamie chuckles and bumps his arm with her shoulder, “Bah humbug _you_ , you’re the one still touting Halloween treats.”

“What can I say, the idea just possessed me!”

Jamie squints, avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Just call me Candyman!”

She clenches her teeth together.

“Maybe I’ll try some Gingerdead!”

“Owen,” she laughs shoving him away, “you prat. Get better material!”

“You don’t like my Christmas jumpe- what’s wrong?”

Jamie coughs, splutters, and jerks her hand frantically, biting her scalding tea-soaked glove off.

“Here,” Owen grabs her cup from her, “what was that?”

“I squeezed,” she wheezes out around coughs. “Owen!”

“Yes, I witnessed that. I mean _why_? They weren’t _that_ bad, surely.”

“Look.” She slaps his arm. “Look! Fuck, do you think she saw us?”

“If she saw anything it’s your inability to swallow a single sip of tea.” He hands her back her tea, squinting around the sunlight to get a better look. “Who is she?”

“ _That’s_ Sad Flower Girl,” she loudly whispers at him.

His eyebrows shoot up to meet his hairline. “Ahhh, SFG. _Really.”_

_“Really!”_

He grins in approval at her. “You going to ask her out?”

“Oh yeah Owen, great plan, I’ll go ask the straight girl out in the middle of the Christmas fucking market.”

“It _is_ the most wonderful time of the year.” She slaps her hand lightly against his arm, admonishing him, and receiving a sharp, “hey!” in return.

Ignoring him she dances onto her tip toes to get a better look at the blonde head bobbing through the crowded stalls. The cold has forced an adorable hue of pink onto her cheeks, nabbing Jamie’s attention in the second before she notices that the woman’s ocean blue gaze has settled on her.

“Shite! Shite!” She places her cup down on the wooden counter and tries to find _anything_ to do to keep her hands busy.

“She’s coming over,” Owen mumbles.

Jamie’s stomach swoops, “she _is not_.”

“Mmm, she is,” he murmurs against his cup. “You’ve been _pining_ for a year, you should ask her out.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she looks up to see Sad Flower Girl dancing lightly around the bustling crowed, making a beeline for Jamie’s stall.

“Well, see you later!” Owen, already hurrying off, calls over his shoulder.

“Oy!” she calls after him, muttering a soft, “prat,” under her breath as she tries to stuff a trembling hand back into her glove.

And then she’s in front of her, and Jamie’s hand is stuck. She works hard, twisting it desperately, and briefly meeting the woman’s gaze as she finally gets it in, feeling decidedly hotter than she has all morning.

“Hi!” she greets, happily, eyeing Jamie’s hand amusedly.

“Alright?” she replies casually, thankful that her voice did not waver, and wondering if she would be blinded by the brightness of this woman’s smile.

She falters. “I- I don’t know if you remember me at all…” she trails off. Jamie’s brows knit together, as if anyone could forget someone _this_ beautiful, or _that_ day. “I’m Dani.” And she thrusts her hand out for Jamie to take.

Jamie hesitates for a mere moment, and the smile on her face weakens.

Without permission, plans immediately formulate in Jamie’s brain to put the smile back in place, any way she can. “I remember, Dani,” she murmurs, taking her hand. The heat, even between two layers of gloves, is undeniable, and Jamie’s heart quickens. She lets go.

“Listen,” Dani begins, “I want to apologise-”

“Not necessary,” Jamie replies, flashing a true smile.

Dani looks pained, tilts her head to the side. “My Mom is-”. Whatever she is Dani can’t seem to find the word.

Jamie clears her throat, “no worries Dani. These things can’t be helped.” She sips her tepid tea.

Dani’s mouth opens and closes, like a fish begging to be hooked. “Well, I’m sorry anyway!” she says it fast.

Jamie laughs, and raises her hands in front of her, warding off any more words that root inside of her soul, make her feel, well, _anything_ really, for this alluring creature. “Accepted, accepted!”

And maybe she shouldn’t have, because the laugh that Dani gives trickles inside of her chest and plants itself deep down. Makes her regret that this is the first time hearing it and resent that it could be the last time also.

Dani bites her lip, looks to where her boots are undoubtedly shuffling in the lingering slush from the previous night, and back to Jamie shyly.

If Jamie didn’t know she was straight she might think that that was flirting.

“So, are you here every Saturday?”

“For my sins, in December anyway,” Jamie replies, unable to stop herself returning with a sly smirk. “And what brings you here? Just _browsing_ , are you?”

“Oh, uh, no,” she flashes a guilty smile, “though everything really does look so wonderful!” She glances at the flowers. “I’m actually judging the Wingrave’s Christmas competition.”

Jamie rolls her eyes, “oh.”

The Wingrave’s annual Christmas competition for venders of North Market Square. Try your hand at a series of Christmas challenges to raise money for their children’s already overfunded school and bag yourself a throwaway prize in the process!

 _It’s not about the prize!_ Owen had told her. _It’s about the Christmas cheer!_

“Yeah, I’m their youngest’s teacher and apparently she convinced them to make me a judge,” Dani frowned.

Jamie winced. “I’ll pray for you.”

The giggle Dani released made its home right next to her laugh inside Jamie’s chest, melting her from the inside.

“It’s not so bad,” she replies, her American inflection drawing the vowels of her speech out and Jamie wouldn’t mind hearing it again and again, wrapping itself around every conversation she will ever have. “Are you entering?”

“Ah-” Jamie stutters, unable to say _fuck no_ like she normally would with Dani’s face so suddenly animated and hopeful. “Christmas is-”

“If the next words out of your mouth is not ‘an amazing time of giving and receiving all manner of presents and experiences’ I will be very upset!” Her hand has come up to point a gloved finger at Jamie’s chest.

Jamie puffs out the breath that had become lodged in her throat, “I was going to say an extremely holy time for some, but I should have known a capitalistic expression of kinship and merriment between men would suit an American much better.”

Dani’s laugh rips through her, making her knees weak, and she sucked a breath into her burning lungs hungrily, smiling too.

“You should enter.” Dani bites her lip, the edges of her smile inching up her face.

Jamie, despite herself, is suddenly glad for the cold, sure that the blush on her cheeks is already hidden behind certain frostbite. “Oh? And why’s that?”

She shrugs, “could be fun?” And stretches out a piece of paper, folded into neat squares and recently retrieved from her back pocket.

Jamie takes the paper, eyes snapping up to meet Dani’s as her hand catches Jamie’s own and lingers. Time might be standing still. “Starts next week.”

Jamie nods, “I’ll think about it.”

Dani smiles and nods and is gone faster than Jamie can think of anything else to say.

A low whistle interrupts her musings, and Owen reappears suddenly by her side. “You, my friend, are fucked.”

Jamie frowns at the unfolded paper, reading her future. “Pretty much,” she mumbles, insides still quivering like jelly. She pins the paper to his chest. “We have a Christmas competition to win.”

-

_Karen_ _puffed out an irritated sigh, and pushed the door forcefully open, muttering under her breath something about oiling the hinges._

_Dani walked behind her mother into the shop. She hadn’t really wanted to do this, much less with Karen, but she could just be so pushy sometimes. The energy to argue with her abandoned Dani very early on in the process._

_She sighed and rolled her eyes as Karen droned on and on about “raving reviews” and “Maggie from book club’s granddaughter used her” and “_ fantastic _references”._

_Dani cared so little at this point that if her fourth graders had offered to pick wild daisies, she would allow them to string them up in the church. But no, Karen would be dropping hundreds of Dani’s dollars on flower arrangements._

_She wondered at why she couldn’t feel anything but passive disinterest at this. Planning a wedding was supposed to be important, right? If not fun, then definitely impactful in some way. Weren’t flowers one of the most important parts? People agonised over this, she knew._

_It washed over Dani with little more force than a gentle breeze._

_It was one of the final nails in the coffin of planning the wedding, almost now at the big day._

_Dani swallowed the gnawing anxiety crawling at her chest and studiously followed her mother’s beeline for the counter._

_“Excuse me!” Karen called, demanding attention from the impassive brunette snipping the stems of a bunch of- well-_ flowers _of some sort._

 _Dani didn’t know much about this kind of thing, hadn’t really been pouring over the bridal magazines for the_ flowers _for the past few months._

_“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter put her scissors down, bewildered._

_The timbre of her voice rocked through Dani, and she found she was having a difficult time, in a shop full of bright and wonderful creations, tearing her eyes from the woman’s face._

_“Yes!” Karen grinned happily at her. “Are you the florist? Jamie?”_

_“Reputation preceeds me, it seems,” she replied._

_“Ah! Yes,” Karen simpered. “_ We _,” she gestured between herself and Dani, “are planning a wedding and would like to know if you are interested in providing the flowers.”_

_Jamie’s eyes flickered to Dani. One eyebrow rose so briefly Dani almost missed it. She definitely didn’t miss the way the florist’s eyes flickered down to her engagement ring, or the burn of shame that flickered through her. She smiled tightly and averted her gaze for the first time to the floor, roughly stuffing her hand in her coat pocket._

_“Can do, yeah,” Jamie responded, straightening up and giving Karen her full attention. “I can pop some time in the diary for you next week to drop by?” She pulled a large black leatherbound book from the desk behind her, flipping it open to November. “How is the twenty-sixth?”_

_“Well,” Karen puffed, “I was hoping we could get started today actually!”_

_A jolt of laughter launched from Jamie’s throat and she stared at Karen, registering just a scant few seconds later that she was serious. “I’m closed just now. Did you not see the sign?”_

_Embarrassment swept upon Dani like a surge, drawing her muscles taught and clenching around her lungs._

_“Oh,” Karen paused, momentarily stunned, “well the door was open,” she continued quickly._

_Jamie pursed her lips and frowned, cocking her head in disbelief but holding her tongue._

_“The twenty-sixth is perfect!” Dani interjected quickly, cutting her mother off before she could get into a stride. “Please, if that’s alright with you.”_

_“Two o’clock alright?” she asked, eyes lingering on Dani as she picked up her pen._

_She grabbed her mother’s arm as she opened her mouth, determined to stop anything spilling out, “perfect!” she called, dragging them out of the shop to offended protests from Karen._

_“See you then,” she heard the florist call lightly, not really trying to be heard at all._


	2. Winter Wonderland

_Winter Wonderland_

“Tell me again _why_ you’re doing this?”

“Thought you would be all for the idea, you’re always harpin’ on about me getting into festivities!”

“Well, I do think you should embrace Christmas more yes.”

“So then, what’s the problem?”

“Well, it’s just not _you,_ is it?”

“Could be.”

“Pff.”

“Good thing eloquence isn’t a requirement for food school.”

“I’ll have you know my dishes need no hand in their expression. And keep it up, I can stop helping at any moment.”

“Empty threats, Sharma. You’re just as invested as I am.”

“Well yes, that’s part of the problem.”

“Oh, there’s _another_ problem. I thought the issue was that Christmas wasn’t _me_.”

“It’s not, _present tense_ it’s not. You haven’t turned some sort of seasonal corner.” He stills his busy hands and points an accusatory finger at her. “There are only two things in this world that can provoke such severe distancing from your better judgement.”

“That so?” she ignores him.

“It’s not the flowers, I know that much.”

She hums in response, neglecting to comment.

“Why don’t you just talk to her and save us all the _work_!”

“Work!” she scoffs. “You love this shite!”

“Yeah, I love _enjoying_ it! I love the market and the treats and the people! Why do you think I’ve never entered!”

“What else am I going to do?” she wipes her brow furiously, the scent of pine fresh on her skin.

“Talk. To. Her. Like a normal human being for God’s sake. I know that is _perhaps_ on the difficult side for you, but you might manage it.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking!”

“Sorry, I really mistook you for a fuckin’ jester there if you thought for a second I could just go and _talk to her_.”

“You spoke the other day!”

“Yes, at the _Christmas Market._ ”

“Well invite her somewhere that isn’t the _Christmas Market.”_

“Owen, I don’t think you’re really graspin’ the fine nuance of this interaction.”

“That is probably the most reasonable thing you’ve said all day.”

Jamie sighs and pushes back from her space on the floor, brushing needles from her jeans. “I need to stretch, fancy a cuppa?”

“I’ll pop the kettle on, you stretch.” He skirts around her, tiptoeing through the festive trimmings.

“Cheers.” She follows him through to the tiny kitchenette hidden away at the back of her shop, and watches him as he methodically constructs their tea, each movement flowing seamlessly to the next.

He’s always been like that, since Jamie has known him, so sure and strong. Never, even when making an absolute tit of himself, does he regret his actions. Never a movement he does not own fully.

That was maybe his upbringing. Different in every possible way to her own. His actions had never had the consequences hers did. Even as a child one wrong move on her part could lead to, well, devastation.

Or maybe it was the ‘straight’ in him, maybe the male half of that dichotomy. His social queues so blatantly obvious a blind seal could bag a girlfriend in his position. A stark contrast to women who could eye fuck you to the end of days but never say a word in your direction. Or could sleep with you six or seven times and still ask, _but do you like me **like that?**_

He has never swum in murkier depths than seducing only a very slightly older, beautiful woman. And it showed.

“You ever just really feel drawn to someone?” she asks quietly, tentatively.

Owen tips his head back in a sharp laugh. “Have you met my wife?”

Jamie smiles. “Right. Well, yes.” The words are difficult to formulate, the situation inexplicable even to herself. “I just kind of feel a bit… I dunno, connected to her.”

“I had, in fact, pieced that together over the past year.”

Jamie groans, burying her face in her hands. “It’s crazy. It is literally crazy. I know.”

“Yes. Which is why you should talk to her.”

“I _can’t_.”

“Why not!” He passes her a mug of tea, steam rising in erratic spirals against the cold room.

“Sorry, what part of the Sad Flower Girl story have you forgotten? She was _buying flowers for her wedding.”_

“Yes, an order which she inconsistently cancelled. In floods of tears if I remember correctly.”

Jamie feels the flush creep from chest to cheeks as slow and inescapable as the snow plough clearing her street each morning. She sips her tea and moves stiffly back to the front of the shop.

Owen eyes her thoughtfully. “Oi.”

“Hmm?” She quickens her pace, settling quickly back in front of the large fresh pine garland she had left half constructed.

“That’s what happened isn’t it? Sad flower Girl gets sad and cancels flowers?”

“Mhm.” Jamie winds a red bow between the needless, concentrating her gaze unwaveringly on the action.

“Ergo, wedding cancelled. So, what’s the problem?”

She ignores the burn of her blush, the tightness in her mouth. “We don’t really _know_ that,” she mumbles.

“Alright.” He places his mug down sharply. “Spill. I’m not helping any more until you tell me.”

“Tell you what!”

“What happened! Why are you so- so- so _agitated_?” He gestures to her with his mug.

She sighs, “Owen. She just cancelled the flowers. I don’t know that she cancelled the wedding.”

“You don’t think that the reason she was sad was because her wedding was cancelled?” One eyebrow shoots toward his hairline.

“No idea,” Jamie replies, adding more trimming to her decorations.

Owen picks up a wreath, and she eyes him nervously, his furrowed brow giving away his confusion. “Why would you cancel your flowers if you didn’t cancel your wedding?”

Jamie cringes. “Maybe she just didn’t want them from me.”

A snort forces its way from Owen, a chuckle following in its wake. “You’re the best florist in the city, why would she cancel an order from you in favour of somewhere else.”

Jamie purses her lips, sneaking a glance at him. She watches as the penny drops, and his eyes flash to hers, wide and hungry.

“What did you do?” he asks, the corners of his mouth tipping up into delight.

“Nothing!”

“It all makes sense now. You’ve literally been moping about her since last Christmas!”

“I have not!”

“Oh,” he splutters, “please.”

She might pass out from the heat emanating from her face.

“Just,” she stammers, “help me with this.”

* * *

Saturday slams into her week hard and fast, and though she has prepared everything, though there is not a single part of her plan for _Challenge One: Construct a Winter Wonderland_ untended, the churning in her stomach and tightness in her chest forces her to rise an hour earlier than usual.

The shop is dark when she arrives, dawn only beginning to bleed weak light through the windows. The landscape she surveys is not one she would typically abide, all display tables aside and pine needle shrapnel strewn about.

But it is magnificent, her finest work, and the weighted pull of dread in her stomach buoys with a frail excitement.

All decorations had been carefully lined up and accounted for last night, soldiers on their way into battle having passed her inspection, but she’s still fussing over them when Owen arrives. He hands her a flask of tea in greeting and eyes her suspiciously.

“I thought you said you were finished.”

“I am finished.”

“Then why are you…” He flails his hands in the direction of the foliage.

She runs a hand uneasily through her hair. “Just, I don’t know, nervous.”

He fixes her with a concerned smile and pats her arm. “Leaf it.”

“Oh fuckin’ hell,” she groans.

He smiles happily. “I’m barked outside, come on give me a hand.”

She bumps his shoulder on the way past him out the door, hiding her smile.

* * *

“It’s magic.” Owen steps back to bring more of the stall into view, clapping his hands and rubbing them together giddily.

Jamie frowns. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re kidding.”

She walks up to the left hanging garland and threads a sprig of holly more securely into it. “There.”

She ignores his blank expression.

“Looks like Jensen is in again this year.”

“Mmm, always is.” Jamie rolls her eyes. Every year he enters, every year he wins. He drops enough cash on each event to total her entire market budget.

Owen shakes his head, “ghastly, if you ask me.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

The soft trickle of bells signals the beginning of the Christmas music pumping through the speakers. Jamie sighs and closes her eyes against the impending flair of irritation at the repetitive playlist.

Her resolve to make this a positive day is present and accounted for, but wafer thin.

Having studied her competition in the previous years, and from her surreptitious stroll around earlier in the morning, she is almost positive Jensen is her only true rival.

His stall, adjacent from hers, is decked out in an elaborate network of fairy lights, a horrifying display of neon sure to blind patrons for meters away. The fine, handmade ornaments he peddles glimmer menacingly in the dancing gaudy illumination. “Looks like the circus vomited all over it.”

“Disgustingly accurate,” Owen agrees, but his brows are knit together in a thoughtful way, and Jamie doesn’t need to ask to know why.

She looks to her own stall. Not a single gimmick strung up, not a plastic star or sliver of tinsel or manic light show. It was Christmas, but it was an earthy Christmas. So long as the light remained unobstructed by clouds it would work.

“How long until the judging?” he asks, looking around him at the other entries, many barely halfway through setting up, tangling themselves and their product in ropes of artificial window dressings.

“’bout an hour. They come before the mass influx of wankers get in the way.”

“Christmas spirit alive and well, I see.”

“Call me Father Christmas.”

Owen chuckles and nods across the field strewn with green and red and gold bunting. “I won’t, but she might.”

“What?” Jamie’s head snaps up, eyes fixing quickly on the blonde, heart quickening as she throws her head back in glee at something Charlotte whispers to her conspiratorially. She bites her lip, wondering how she could coax such an expression from her.

“She might make some critical amendments mind.”

“Amendments?” Jamie spins quickly and studies her decorations gravely.

“Might go tell her to call you _daddy_ instead.”

Jamie chokes on her own breath, roughly pushing him away to his own stall. “I’m telling Hannah, that was vile.”

He’s still laughing when he reaches his small bakery.

* * *

It’s a frosty enough for a soft snow to begin to fall throughout the market. A light dusting sticking to the ground. Beautiful in its powdery beginnings. Yet to turn to the slush that finds any and all flaws in footwear, freezes fingers and stiffens bones. The light breeze blows it in light furrows and pretty swirls.

So why is Jamie sweating so God damn much? She has stripped off her heavy winter coat, keeping only her light jumper and gloves.

“Stop fidgeting,” Owen hisses at her.

She shoves her hands in her pockets violently. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“They’re coming.”

“Yes, thank you, I can see that!” she snaps.

Owen whistles.

She might feel a pang of regret at her tone, if she had any room left in her body that wasn’t currently imitating sea water churning in a storm. “I might be sick.”

“You won’t be sick.”

“I might.”

“Why are you _doing this_ then?” his eyes bore holes into her face, where she refuses to look at him.

“Oh please,” she scoffs back at him. “As if you’ve never done anything barmy to speak to someone you shouldn’t be speaking to.”

“Well- well-” he splutters, “you’re not really even speaking to her, are you though? You could’ve done that the other day without all _this_.”

“Okay fine then then! Done something barmy to catch the attention of someone you shouldn’t!” she corrects hot and fast and true, and Owen cackles.

“Fine, fine okay.”

“Besides,” she carries on, “someone needs to win this thing over Jensen. He’s fuckin’ insufferable.”

Owen tilts his head in agreement.

“Wow!”

Jamie had watched her coming, had witnessed every single footstep left in the powdery snow, and still Dani’s voice rung through her like a bell, vibrating to her core. Her mouth twitches up into a smile, eyes finding no time for Dominic or Charlotte surrounding her.

“You did all this?” Dani asks.

“You ask for a Winter Wonderland, and you shall receive,” she winks, grateful now for the soft smattering of snow dusting her flowers. The heat emanating from the bulbs littering her competitors stalls swiftly melts any snowfall in their immediate vicinity. It drips sadly from their decorations, drooping anything at risk of water damage.

Jamie delights in this.

A soft blush rises on Dani’s cheeks, matching her perfect cherry lips.

“It’s amazing!” Charlotte comments. “I love the _reds_ , it’s- well- it’s almost like they’re glowing! But without glowing?” she laughs-asks, eyes twinkling.

Dominic considers her. “You’ve not exactly gone the traditional route.” He probes, gesturing behind him to the sickening fanfare of flickering lights, and singing animals, and wrapped gifts strewn about.

“It’s _natural_ ,” Jamie explains bluntly. “Everything here is from the Earth. Back to basics, just like Christmas should be.” She leaves no room for argument.

He nods, opens his mouth twice to parry, but reconsiders. He nods, and gestures swiftly to his companions and they move along.

Owen claps a hand to her shoulder. “All true, but perhaps we’ll work on the delivery.”

* * *

An unexpected benefit of her participation in the Christmas Market Competition is that everyone seems to want her flowers now. She’s sold the hanging garland to a family of five, gathering in the process that they intend to hang it from their porch, the poinsettia are all gone before the sun can reach mid-day, every single wreath has been spoken for, even her holly, usually a slow mover, has been sold.

“Blimey,” she comments, surveying a bare smattering of product left along the front row of buckets she keeps her bouquets in. “Should have done this years ago.”

“Told you.”

Jamie jolts back in surprise that anyone, particularly _this_ anyone, could sneak up on her. 

“Sorry,” Dani giggles, bites her lip. “Looks like you’ve been busy!”

Jamie clears her throat, “told me what?”

“That it could be fun.”

Jamie smirks. “That _could_ is very conditional on the outcome.”

“That so?” she giggles. “Maybe this will help.” She pulls a blue ribbon from her pocket, face alight. “It was announced, um, up there,” she nods to a bandstand in the middle of the stalls. “But I think you were in high demand and no one wanted to get in the way.”

Jamie follows her words for as long as she can. Thinks she might hear her say something along the lines of _congratulations_ or _well done_ or _take me home_ but she’s underwater now, barely able to swallow, barely able to breathe.

Dani leans across, catches the front of her coat, and pins the ribbon right above her heart. The proximity thunders through her, and she can hear nothing but the blood rushing through her head.

Dani gives the ribbon a pat on her chest and had she not been leaning solidly on the table she surely would have succumbed to her jelly knees.

She had known her chances at this particular task were high enough. Who can beat a florist at decorating _anything_? Still, her desert throat prevents her from replying.

Perhaps it’s the lack of having ever obtained any of these smart blue ribbons up until this point, or the mysterious blonde delaying retrieving her hand, but Jamie is somewhat stunned.

Dani smiles shyly. “I was going to ask if you needed any help in packing up, but it looks like you’ve been cleaned out.”

Jamie ducks her head, a daring energy streaking through her. “Not completely,” she smirks.

“Oh?”

She flicks her eyes upward, to where mistletoe hangs tied in a neat red bow. She watches a dawning understanding light Dani’s eyes, and freezes the smile on her face.

 _Too bold!_ she chastises herself in the split second before Dani darts in, quick as a rocket that explodes in Jamie’s chest as her warm, soft lips press against her own.

She pulls back, quicker than Jamie would have liked, but face alight.

Jamie swallows hard, mind frantically searching for a way to seek her out again, but she’s being called away on important judicial business, and giving Jamie a regretful look. “See you next week?” she asks.

“I’ll be here.”

She basks in the butterflies running riot in her stomach, until the wolf-whistle from Owen snaps her out of her reverie.

* * *

_The twenty-sixth at two o’clock._

_None of the other appointments Dani had been forced to keep in her diary had stood out quite as much. She had underlined it three times. And then highlighted it. And then circled it in red._

_“Why? All this?” Karen spluttered at her, looking over to her side of the car as she pulled up outside Jamie’s._

_Dani rolled her eyes. There would always be something to pitch a fit about. “Just a reminder.”_

_“You need that much reminding about going to pick out the flowers for your wedding?”_

_Dani flushed. Frankly, it was a mixed bag. She didn’t respond. How could she tell Karen she couldn’t give a crap what flowers they used, so long as they used_ this _florist._

 _“I suppose you_ did _miss the cake tasting,” she snipped._

_Dani closed her eyes against the impending headache that each one of these planning excursions brought on._

_She_ had _missed the cake tasting. She had been crippled with anxiety. Nerves about getting it right, she was sure. Better to let the others choose anyway. Less disappointment that way._

 _She surged out of the car, in the shop, and through the day. Paid such little to no attention to the details Karen gave the florist, gave_ Jamie, _that she couldn’t have pin-pointed her own theme had three options been laid before her._

_Her wits were given instead to the shape of Jamie’s jaw, her cheekbones, the delicate column of her neck._

_The trace of her was followed with excruciating commitment by her eyes, the draw of her inexorable._

_She asked questions of Dani, her voice crushed velvet. “What’re your colour patterns, what kind of flowers do you think will suit the venue, is your dress white or off-white, do you want a big bouquet or a small.”_

_Each question floated through Dani’s mind, swirling slowly and dropping small details. The timber of her dips and lifts, the accent dropping Gs and curling harshly around Rs. Her mother jumped in before Dani need respond, she couldn’t have extracted the proper response from her mind anyway. Allowed her to fall into the magic, the magnetic pull that stole the breath from her lungs._

_“Sorry.” Jamie held her hands up, puffing out a frustrated breath. “Who’s getting married here?”_

_“Well, Danielle of course!” Karen laughed._

_Dani didn’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback guys, every single one of you is so appreciated!


	3. Set the Stage for Santa

_Set the Stage for Santa_

Jamie looks up into the mid-morning sky, clouds warped and feral, mocking her.

Snow falls with silent carelessness, whirling a soft ballet around her, twisting and melding and falling in the beautiful spirals of its last dance.

Glaring, she curses under her breath. The gleeful laughter of the crowd around her is not so much a sound as a _feeling_.

How the fuck had she ended up here, in the middle of an ice rink, on her back, only a vaguely round pile of sludge to show for her efforts?

The day hadn’t begun like this, it was decidedly _not in the plan_.

Jamie is cautious, careful. She does not do things without a hell of a lot of thought. Plans are important to her. Plans and structure. Deeply, it was ingrained in her. Structure your day and stay out of trouble. Plan things in meticulous detail and leave little room for error. Little room for errant thoughts and temptations to pull you under.

She had studied the leaflet Dani passed to her those weeks ago in precise detail, planning each event in her head before ever putting ideas in motion.

And that is how she likes it. Deviations are to be avoided at all costs. No excuses bar natural disasters.

Natural disasters such as a bastard fucking blizzard spewing snow all over her careful preparations.

* * *

A crack rends the air, snapping Jamie out of her concentration. At the accompanying flash she groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated.

“Gimme that,” she demands.

Owen’s gleeful laughter rings in her ears. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not jokin’,” she warns.

He waves the polaroid around in the air, eyes alight with mischief, giggles increasing. “This is going on the Christmas card.”

“Owen, I swear to fuckin’ God if that sees the light of day.” She doesn’t finish, just watches as he pretends to shiver in fear.

“Are you- are you _blushing_!” 

His squeals of joy roast her face aggressively, and he snaps a close-up of her embarrassment.

“Owen, I will murder you!” She snatches the picture before he can get to it.

Eyes wide, he evaluates her with a nonchalant shrug. “Nice reflexes.”

“Prison’ll do that,” she replies to his guffaw.

“I see now why you wouldn’t let me help this week,” he reasoned, rounding to rest on the other side of her counter, blocking her briefly from snickering customers. Her fortune had held out since last week, helping her sell far more of her wares than would be normal at this point in previous weeks.

She was reassured, every time a child pointed and stared at her outfit, that it would lead them to believe that she cared for the holiday. And if they thought she cared for it then perhaps Dani, Christmas lover extraordinaire, would think she cared for it. Alas, it didn’t make her dislike the attention any less.

She could use the break from her embarrassment.

Especially as it was so _fucking cold._

She rubbed her hands together furiously, trying to kindle a flame to light the rest of her body on fire.

“Freezing your tail off?” Owen laughs.

“Bugger off,” she fires at him.

“Oooh, such a _Vixen_ ,” he teases.

She grinds her teeth. “Is Hannah about? She needs to come wrangle you soon before I lose my patience.”

“She just _Dashed_ off to get the spare heater from the van.”

“Wipe that smarmy look off your face now, Sharma, I swear.”

“It’s really coming down. Bit of a _Blitz_.”

She throws a sprig of holly at him.

“Oi, thorns!”

“Thorn in my side,” she grumbles.

“This is amazing Jamie, how did you even think of this?” he fingers a carrot, part of an elaborate vegetable bouquet she had spent more than a few hours preparing.

Days had been spent pouring over her vegetable garden, poking and prodding and testing. Which were ready to be picked? Which were ready enough to appear ripe to untrained eyes? Which could she bare to part with?

In truth, she would part with the whole garden in favour of this competition. She had certainly parted from her senses dressing up for it. Success in the contest had become inextricably linked with Dani’s favour in her mind.

“I didn’t want to do what they’re all doin’. Every single one of them copying each other. Like watchin’ a fuckin’ movie on repeat. Just like last week: no original thoughts between them.”

“Yeah, bit pathetic isn’t it?” He’s still grinning at her.

“What?” she asks, watching as his eyes trail to the autumnal colours draped above her head, golden brown tones matching her costume just as she knew it would.

He shakes his head, smile plastered to his face. “You’ve out _donner_ yourself.”

“I’m Rudolph, you smug git!” she shouts, but it dissolves in mid-air into laughs.

He laughs with her. “Finally, some appreciation. Worked my antlers off for that one.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She shakes her head, eyes darting around him and peering into the increasingly heavy snowfall. “Here’s your better half.”

Hannah, graceful and elegant, floats on air to meet them. A softly placed kiss to her cheek and Owen wraps her in an arm, taking the small heater from her with the other.

“Hello love,” she greets. “And hello Jamie,” she snickers lightly. “You look fantastic.”

“She does,” Owen agrees. “Though,” he frowns, “bit tight isn’t it?”

Jamie sets her jaw, grinding her teeth when Hannah doesn’t disagree. “I had to get it in the kid’s section,” she mumbles fast. At Owens raucous laughter, and Hannah’s equally wild expression she continues, “they didn’t have any fuckin’ adult costumes! It’s a theme!”

“Honestly darling, you look terrific!”

If possible, Jamie flushes even harder at Hannah’s compliments than Owen’s teasing.

“Anyway, you made it back alright Hannah?”

“Yes, thank you, dear. Just about.” She looks worriedly outward to the ever-increasing snowfall. “Have they been ‘round yet?”

“No,” Jamie frowns, “not yet. This fuckin’ snow isn’t doing me any favours.”

“No,” Hannah’s bright eyes turn to eye her flagging display leaves. “Don’t suppose it is.”

“Fuck,” Jamie curses following her eyes, and reaching up to _paste_ it back to where it had originally hung, crisp and crunchy. “Fuck.”

“It’ll be alright, dear.” Hannah reaches a hand across to her, pats her shoulder gently.

She fights against the swell of frustration in her chest, fights against the urge to bite out a furious diatribe at the market for thinking this had been a good idea at all.

Hannah sees, she always sees, grabs her hand and rubs a thumb soothingly against her skin. “Darling, stop. It’s fine. Look at the others, they’re the same. The snow is too heavy to see anything bar their lighting arrangement.”

It was true, she could see no more of Jensen’s flamboyant flashy gift display, or the Clement’s equally garish smattering of dancing animatronic elves. The snow had slowed all business in the general vicinity down, only a brave few trudging about the snow now.

And then, suddenly and heart-stoppingly, Dani was one of the brave souls, making a beeline for each competing stall.

Was she judging alone today? Surely not, surely she couldn’t be. She was spending little more than a few seconds at each one.

A fire sears across Jamie’s skin, stomach doing pleasant flips as she turns and begins jogging in her direction.

Jamie grips her fingers behind her back, anything to keep them from fidgeting in the way her body is telling her they need to be.

“Hi,” Dani shouts.

Jamie’s grin forces its way to her mouth. “Flying solo today?” she asks.

Dani smiles, eyes lingering just a touch too long on Jamie’s face. She sucks a thin breath into her lungs.

“No, it’s just snowing a bit too hard, there’s been a change of plan!” She’s bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, almost as if she hadn’t flipped Jamie’s carefully laid scheme in ruins at her feet.

Jamie did not like changing plans. Jamie anticipated needs and outcomes with careful thought. And Jamie needed to win this fucking competition.

“You look…” Dani trails off, eyes roaming over her costume.

“Oh fuck,” Jamie swears, lost so entirely in the beautiful fresh smattering of rouge on Dani’s skin and the ice in her eyes that she had dressed for her decorations today.

“Cute!” she finishes with a gleeful giggle. “You look very cute.”

Jamie smiles. _Cute_. Not ideal but it will do.

“Now come on!” she rushes behind the stall and grabs Jamie’s hand, covering her skin in tiny explosions that made her swallow her instinct to jerk away, reach up, wrap her hands in Dani’s soft golden hair and crush their lips together.

Lightening quick the thought entered her mind, and implanted low into her belly, and nestled there throbbing lowly with each unsure pounding footstep that jostled their skin together.

Dani pulled her through the market, past the empty stalls who had given up on the day’s take with the storm, and past those who are desperately trying to wipe the snow from their product for the few patrons not yet hurling snowballs or giggling and spinning under the sky.

Dani’s tinkling laughter floats on the breeze, carried by the snow, and pulls her own from her lips. The ring of her angel voice paints a map of joy across her heart, lifting it to join the soft timber of the carols still being pumped from the speakers.

She grips her hand harder, speeds up her pace and runs with Dani at her side instead of being pulled behind her. Her smile fresh as the morning dawn.

And Jamie wonders just how the dawn will ever compare again. How will she wake up every morning and look at one while wishing for the other?

Her glee dies a sharp death when she realises where Dani is taking her. She falls behind, apprehension dawning over her, and pulls back.

Dani’s eyes meet her own though, a questioning quirk of an eyebrow and Jamie is following again, slower now, without a word of protest.

She stops her on the edge of the ice-skating rink that accompanies their market, and Jamie’s heart sinks. She can’t skate. While other kids were learning how to stay upright on the ice, how to weave between people on blades and how to hold hands with their loves and take in the magic of a winter tradition, she was working from as young as any place would have her. Doing anything to have some sort of income and stay away from her foster families.

“Ummm,” Dani hums, standing on her toes to peer over the growing crowd’s heads. “There! Come on!” She pulls Jamie once again into the fray, weaving in and out of people, many of whom laugh lightly at Jamie’s costume.

“Dani...” Jamie broaches. “Dani what’s going on.”

“You’ll see!” she giggles.

And damn the fucking giggle, but some of Jamie does want to see what is causing it- in about the same approximation of her that doesn’t.

Dani turns and pulls her to the side quickly, before they can reach the other competitors huddled beside Dominic and Charlotte, though fewer than Jamie had thought. “What’r-”

“How are you with snowmen?”

“Not particularly good with any kind of man, if I’m honest,” she replies.

Dani breathes out a small laugh, looking at her with interest. “They’re cancelling the Santa’s Stage challenge.”

“Gathered that.” She smooths down the non-existent creases in her unitard. “What does that have to do with an ice-rink?”

Dani glances over her shoulder briefly at the ice-rink. “Well,” she frowns, “nothing. Not really anyway, the snow is covering the ice. It’s enough to be packed tight when you walk on it, so it won’t be a problem.”

“Sorry, when _who_ walks on it?” Jamie asks in incredulous. If they for a second think she is going to be walking onto a giant fucking ice-cube they are sorely mistaken.

Dani’s brow furrows, and her eyes search Jamie’s face, unsure now.

It twists a knot in Jamie’s stomach. She groans, just as fucked and gone for this woman as she had thought. “To bloody do what? Win the hypothermia contest?”

Dani presses her lips together dejectedly, and Jamie considers pressing her own to them instead. Wonders if maybe that might fix them in the ghost of a smile she saw last week after they had kissed. The thought warms her skin, and she inches forward, determined to trap it in a moment.

But then Dani is asking her, “to build a snowman,” and she freezes on the spot.

_To build a snowman._

“I have never in my fuckin’ life built a snowman, now you want me to actively compete in a snowman building competition?” Unbelievable.

“It’ll be fun!” Dani answers too fast. And then, “you’ve never built one?” And Jamie knows, she knows now that Dani’s thoughts are going through all the possibilities of a childhood without snowmen and snow and ice-skating and Christmas spirit.

She bites her lip at Jamie’s shake of the head. “Okay, look that’s fine. Four others have already dropped out, so your competition is down to two other vendors.”

Suspicion settles in Jamie’s mind. “Why?”

“Why what?” Too innocent. The words and the expression are far too innocent.

“Why did they drop out?” Jamie dips her head, searching to meet her gaze.

She shrugs, refusing to meet Jamie’s eyes. “The- probably- uhh- just probably the cold,” Dani winces. “And they didn’t do too well last week, so they reconsidered taking part.” She grabs Jamie’s hands and holds tight. “But you won last week!” Her shy smile makes Jamie want to kiss her again. “It would _crazy_ for you to drop out now!”

The snowfall pounds noiselessly down around them, and Jamie could well believe others would abandon hope here. It was easily conceivable in her brain that _she_ might drop out had she not already so much on the line.

For someone not even close to winning to run about in the slush and sludge and build a sculpture of ice?

No. Absolutely not. Why would they.

Why would she? Only Dani’s baby blues held the answer.

“It’s fine though! It’s better this way!” Dani exclaims excitedly.

“Sorry, wait for just one second here. It’s better that _three_ other people thought it was too cold and too mad to participate in this?”

“Less competition, right?” Dani laughs. It’s a hopeful laugh, full of longing and pleading. “And this way I get to help you!”

“Help me?”

“I- If you want?”

She seems unsure, unsure in a way that Jamie is more than familiar with. She’d seen that look on her face before a million years ago, just as heart-breaking. “Let’s do it,” she says.

“Awesome!” Dani replies, once again ushering her over to the others. “So, I’m allowed to jump in and help only you. Dominic is helping John Jenson and Charlotte is going to help Sammy Mathews.”

“Isn’t that biased? Who’s going to judge then?”

“Well yeah, but we figured it wasn’t really fair for you guys to have to do this without us also participating. It’s uhh-” tinkling laughter and a guilty look meets Jamie’s eyes. “a little crazy out there. Besides, the audience is going to judge.”

“Audience?”

Dani’s brilliant smile in return is just enough to allay her immediate fears.

* * *

Upon reflection, she supposes it’s the smile, brilliant and beautiful and perfect, that leads her to her current predicament.

They had begun badly. It had gotten worse.

She hadn’t considered at the time that rolling her snow into the base, not even a sphere but more of a warped barrel, would reveal the ice beneath.

At the time she had made note of it, careful to step around it as she packed further snow, trying to even out the biggest bottom part.

It was a badly misshapen mess.

No one had ever told her how difficult this was. Didn’t people look outrageously happy doing this on TV?

She hadn’t understood for the first panicked moments, how in the world shoving her fingers into ice over and over again could be fun, until Dani’s joy caught on the breeze and calmed her soul. Her panicked squeals as she tried to fix the quickly crumbling structure vibrated in Jamie’s chest, and uncontrollable laughter escaped her, continually stealing her breath.

Dani’s hands, she could see, patted the huge snowball manically. The packed snow was disintegrating under her attempts, and Jamie, light and free in her enjoyment, rushed over to help her.

“It’s going, it’s going!” Dani shrieked.

“No, no, no!” Jamie’s hands had covered hers, truthfully not as intent on helping the snowman stay together as she was with just being close to Dani. When it had come apart under their touch Jamie had let out a small, rallying laugh, her work ethic spurred by the atmosphere Dani inspired. “It’s alright, we can fix this!” she’d pulled Dani’s hand, reluctant to let her go, over to a patch of fresh snow to scoop up.

In her haste she had forgotten that they had unearthed a large chunk of the ice-rink and fell, comically and heavily, right onto her back.

And it is here, in this moment, where she lies contemplating her life choices into the swirling mass of clouds, and wondering if, perhaps, Owen had been correct. She should have just spoken to Dani instead of a grandiose gesture of loving Christmas and shared interests.

But then Dani is on top of her, hands resting just below her shoulders, and her laughter is wild in the wind, cutting off any entertainment that has filtered through her panic from the crowd. “I’m sorry!” she says, giggling and staring at Jamie with snowfall glittering in her eyes.

“’S not your fault, bloody base fell apart.” And Jamie is laughing again, because how can she not when a beautiful woman stealing her soul on top of her.

“I guess you were landed with the dud, doesn’t really snow much in Iowa.”

“Nah, never really stood a chance anyway. Doesn’t snow much in England either.”

She ignores her half dead snowman, the crowd, the competition, she’s just lost as she knew she would be. Dani’s attention firmly turned to her has her heart beating a wild pattern, battering her rib cage. Her stomach is swooping as Dani’s face draws closer to her own, and none of the cold exists anymore. She hitches a last breath, pushing onto one arm and softly gripping Dani’s chin with the other, drawing her in.

Dani jumps back, onto her knees, eyes on fire looking at Jamie as the horn, loud and ringing, signals the end of their construction.

And Jamie could scream.

“Fuckers.”

Dani looks at her in sympathy and… Solidarity? “C’mere.” She stands and holds out her hands to get Jamie up.

She is thoroughly soaked through, and glad for the melting snow to disguise it.

Dani squeezes her hand, looking across at the other snowmen with her, both decidedly more put together than half a base.

“Bastard. Bet he was fuckin’ born in Alaska.”

Dani giggles. “Where’d he get the lights?”

“Jensen,” she grits out, shaking her head.

“Extreme.”

“Over the fuckin’ top if you ask me.”

“And the carrot, where was he carrying that! How did he even know, it was a surprise contest?”

“Did he just win?”

“Damn.”

“Shite.”

“He’s staring at you.”

“Jeering at me. Been sore all morning after last week.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Fuck it, there’s always next week. I had planned to do a clean sweep though.”

“That’s confident.”

“I know what I’m good at.” She murmurs it, low and steady and _bold_. She can feel Dani squeeze her hand in surprise. Sees her eyes widen and the sheer hunger cross her face. It’s unmistakable, the invisible string that keeps them tied together. Jamie is certain she isn’t the only one feeling it. Sure that Dani is slowly getting closer.

Jamie flicks her eyes to just over her shoulder, where with a groan she registers Dominic coming up behind her. His jovial face bounces into view faster than she would have credited him with. Frustration roots deep within her, tugging on her stomach and forcing her to bite her tongue lest she say something _really_ rather rude.

He pats Dani’s shoulder gently, “better luck next time, eh!”

Dani gives him a good-natured smile, turning back to Jamie where she’s simpering lightly.

“That’s one for you and Jensen then! Tie break next week it seems!”

Jamie chuckles not unkindly, and it’s the most she can muster for this man, interrupting the thoughts and the urge she has suppressed for an entire year. And now, the burning desire she feels is so much _more_ because as he pulls Dani away for some final administration work of the day Jamie’s fingers skim across her own and feel no wedding band.

Not even Owen’s copious pictures of her fall are enough to bring her elation down.

* * *

_Dani followed her mother around in a daze most of the time. Unfortunately for the duration of the heavy planning Karen was staying with her, refusing to pay for a hotel until she could ‘vouch’ for its ‘standards’ – i.e she would sleep in their spare room for a few weeks until they put her up in a nice central hotel._

_Dani was just about there with her. Not a moment’s peace was to be had with her._

_She trotted around acting as if she were planning her own wedding, as if each decision was an integral step to getting Dani down the aisle._

_Pick the wrong cake and Dani would flee._

_Pick the wrong dress and Dani would flee._

_Pick the wrong flowers and Dani would flee._

_Stay in a hotel and Dani would flee._

_It had crossed her mind, more than once, that her mother thought her so fickle. Why did she think that Dani turn around at the drop of a hat and not go ahead with the ceremony? Was she seeing something in her resistance?_

_And as the day drew nearer, and more decisions were being made, and the more decisions Karen took onto her own shoulders without so much of a bat of Dani’s eyelid, she did wonder. Why was she so okay with it?_

_People put years into planning a wedding, or paid a lot of money to have it done in the exact right way._

_But not Dani, her mother planned hers, and she didn’t care. Just stared back at her scared doe expression, and nodded her head._

_Looks had been shared between her husband to be and her mother that hadn’t gone unnoticed. Whispered conversations around corners. Worry in their tones._

“What’s going on with her?”

“Is she okay?”

“It’s wedding nerves, stress of planning. She’s fine. Not to worry.”

_It absolutely was not the stress of planning. She was doing hardly any of that anyway._

_If it were anything, anything at all that had her in a spin, it was the dreams, the daydreams and the night dreams. Not of ivory white or first dances or a packed church. But of a fiery florist, and her soft lips and chiselled cheekbones._

_And so, when it came to finalise the flowers, Dani had put her foot down. “I’ll go on my own,” she insisted._

_Karen, wary, questioned why._

_She explained that she had already done so much. Too much really. How could she ask her to do this, it was her wedding after all, and she was capable of this one task. It was just finalising and thank you so much for putting most of the effort in anyway!_

_Karen had almost looked pleased she was taking some initiative._

_Dani had other ideas._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE AMOUNT OF REINDEER COSTUMES I'VE HAD TO LOOK AT.


End file.
